


Close Enough to See You

by monopolizeme



Series: You Are the Best Thing That's Ever Been Mine [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monopolizeme/pseuds/monopolizeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This wasn’t your fault." Stiles says softly, dragging Derek from the onslaught of images breaking behind his eyelids.</p>
<p>Derek thinks, <i>You don’t mean that,</i> and almost says it aloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Enough to See You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to a [manip](http://mydearsourwolf.tumblr.com/post/48300553899/dry-leaves-crunch-beneath-dereks-boots-in-the) that I made. I love the idea of Stiles being blind, I don't know why. But here is a short drabble that I hope to one day make a longer fic out of. :)

 

Dry leaves crunch beneath Derek’s boots in the quiet stillness of the Hale property, and he allows the noise, allows his presence to be known. 

"That you, my sourwolf?" Stiles calls out sweetly, craning his neck to the side. He’s laying on the ground, amongst damp foliage and cracked gnarled branches, fingers thrumming against his stomach.

"What are you doing out here?" Derek asks. "It’s dark. Come inside."

He makes his way down the sharp slope, boots digging into the soil, and then there is the cold press against his knee as he crouches behind Stiles on the ground.

Stiles’ mouth pulls into a grin. He raises his left hand and wiggles his fingers up at Derek’s face. “It’s always dark for me, remember?”

Derek scowls, his brows drawing tight as he thins his mouth.

"Hey, stop that." says Stiles, tilting his head to the side, his pale white-blue eyes soft in the dim moonlight.

"Stop what?" Derek says gruffly, fingers curling beside Stiles’ face, not quite allowing himself to  _touch_  as he wants to.

"That grumpy thing," Stiles says, nuzzling the back of his head against Derek’s thigh. "I know you’re doing it. I can _hear_  it. You’re guilt-tripping yourself as you always do. And you don’t have a reason to. Not in this case, at least. It wasn’t your fault and so you can go about guilt-free on this one.”

Derek cups his hand around the hard curve of Stiles’ jaw, not meaning to but he needs to touch Stiles, feel that he’s real, that he’s still  _alive_  as the memories flood behind his eyes, thick against his tongue and he struggles against the tremor that racks through his arm -  _crumpled limbs strewn about a limp twisted body, and blood, so much_ blood _, rank upon his tongue from just the scent of it and Stiles’ chest, not moving, not_ breathing _in that steady heady rhythm and flesh so cold and his_ eyes _-_

"This wasn’t your fault." Stiles says softly, dragging Derek from the onslaught of images breaking behind his eyelids.

Stiles’ skin is soft and warm against his palm and  _this is real, this_  and Stiles smiles when Derek worries the pad of his thumb against the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

"And if I know you, which I’d like to say that I’ve gotten to know you  _very_   well over these past several months,” (and Derek rolls his eyes at this, the way Stiles winks lewdly at him and waggles his brows at the insinuation) “you’re finding some reason to berate yourself over my, well,  _condition_. And I’m fine so don’t even go there. It was an accident. Things happen, and all that.” He makes a careless swirling motion in air, fine-bone fingers curling and arching, catching the shadows and slices of light against his pale skin.

Derek thinks,  _You don’t mean that,_ and almost says it aloud.

Instead he sighs, gazes down at Stiles’ upside-down face, the tiny pricks of his feathered eyelashes and their sharp contrast against the milky film covering once dark brown eyes. They’d be flickering up at Derek now, laughter dancing and swirling in the flecks of amber that used to stand out so brightly.

"Now, c’mere," Stiles says, patting the earth beside him. "The ground is hard and cold and absolutely wonderful so I think you should come join me and warm me up."

His teeth gleam in the encompass of his face, smooth skin speckled by small moles, each of which Derek has memorized with his teeth and tongue; and the upturn of his nose and red lips, and Derek mutters something beneath his breath.

"Don’t you dare make a Spiderman reference," he says, right before he descends slowly, hand pressed against the side of Stiles’ face and kisses him, upside down and open and warm and Stiles releases a muffled laugh into his mouth.

"Oh, this is good," Stiles mumbles against Derek’s lips, tilting his chin up to press deeper into the kiss. He bends his arms upwards and back so that he can thread his fingers through Derek’s hair. "This is so very, very good. And you’re giving me stubble burn on my nose, which is awesome and will be hella fantastic explaining to everyone-"

He’s cut off though, as Derek bites at his bottom lip with a soft growl and drags blunt fingernails up Stiles’ stomach, exposing the skin to the cool night air.

Stiles shivers.

"Get down here already so I can kiss you properly." He mutters, tugging on Derek’s hair a little too firmly.

And Derek allows himself to laugh softly, smiling against Stiles’ open grinning mouth, pushing aside the seeingless eyes that forever haunt him in the shadows of his mind.


End file.
